An Invitation Wrapped in Silk

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, its golden rays spreading across the floor of Arla-Rosa’s modest apartment. She was arranging the bouquet Seth had brought her the previous night, a gesture she told herself meant he truly cared, when her phone buzzed.

Seth's name flashed across the screen. She answered quickly, her heart lifting. "Good morning," she greeted warmly. "Morning, my rose," Seth’s voice crooned through the receiver, full of syrupy affection. "I was thinking... it’s been almost two months since we got engaged, sweetheart. How about we finally let the family in on the secret?"

Arla hesitated, her fingers tightening around the flower stem. Her parents, Gerard and Almay Santon, had never been a source of comfort. And Aretha, well, the less said about her sister, the better. Still, Seth continued, sensing her reluctance. "I know you're worried," he said gently. "But trust me, Rosa. I'll be right there beside you. I'll protect you." His voice dipped into something low and reassuring. "You won't face them alone this time."

For a moment, Arla-Rosa teetered on the edge of refusal. Then she looked around her bright new apartment, the place Seth had helped secure for her, and thought of everything he'd done lately to prove his love. Maybe she was being unfair, clinging to old fears. "Alright," she whispered. "Let's do it." "Good girl," Seth murmured. "I'll arrange everything. You just need to show up and dazzle them with that smile I love so much."

The restaurant Seth chose was lavish but intimate. He booked a private room at an exclusive French bistro downtown. The polished cutlery gleamed under soft chandelier light, and a subtle scent of roses lingered in the air. He had truly gone out of his way and he knew that Arla-Rosa will be blown away by his supposed thoughtfulness.

When Arla-Rosa arrived on Seth's arm, she almost turned to flee at the sight of her family already seated at the long table. Her mother’s pearl-white smile, her father’s hearty, booming laugh and Aretha’s glittering, too-sweet gaze,were more unsettling than comforting. Only Seth's hand on the small of her back kept her rooted.

And then, the old Mr. Robinson, grandfather to Seth and patriarch of the Robinson family, rose to greet her with surprising warmth. His silver hair and bright blue eyes gave him an air of kindness that took Arla-Rosa off-guard. "My dear," he said, clasping her hands in his own weathered ones. "I finally get to meet the young woman my grandson speaks so highly of."

Heat flooded Arla-Rosa's cheeks as she mumbled a polite thank you. They all took their seats. Toasts were made. Laughter bubbled easily from every mouth. The food was exquisite, the wine flowed and the conversations overlapped in cheerful noise. For the first time in a long while, Arla-Rosa let herself relax. Maybe... she had been wrong to doubt. Maybe she did have a family, after all.

Midway through the meal, as plates of steak and roasted vegetables were cleared, Seth rose to make a small speech. Raising his wine glass, he smiled at her. To Arla-Rosa, he was handsome, charming, and utterly convincing.

"I just want to thank everyone for coming tonight," he began. "And more importantly, to thank Rosa. Without her... I don’t think I’d have achieved half of what I have." He chuckled, turning to the table. "Truly, she's the brain behind my success. I’m just lucky enough to have convinced her to be by my side, professionally and personally."

The table erupted in warm applause. Arla-Rosa’s heart swelled. How could she not be elated when he was proud of her and openly acknowledging her? Yet... if one listened carefully, his words praised her more as a partner in business than as a woman he loved.

Gerard, her father, boomed with laughter and added loudly: "Good thing Seth has more sense than feelings! Otherwise, he might've married a pretty face with no substance!" The table laughed again. Even her mother dabbed her lips delicately, hiding her smirk.

Aretha squeezed Arla's hand under the table, hard. The nails digging into her skin for just a second longer than necessary before releasing with a sugary smile. Arla blinked, unsettled for half a heartbeat. But then Seth turned and winked at her conspiratorially, and her doubts melted away. They were just teasing her out of affection, she told herself.

As dessert was served, the old Mr. Robinson cleared his throat. "I have thought it over," he said, smiling warmly at Arla-Rosa. "I wholeheartedly approve of this engagement." Relief swept through Arla like a tidal wave. She could barely stop the grateful tears from springing into her eyes.

"But," the old man continued, lifting a hand, "Rosa, my dear, I know you're about to graduate next month. It's an important milestone." He glanced meaningfully around the table. "I propose we hold the engagement party two months from now, instead of one. I want you to focus on finishing strong, without the pressure of planning an engagement ceremony looming over you."

Arla-Rosa blinked in surprise. Kindness radiated from him, genuine and reassuring. Seth squeezed her hand under the table. "Whatever you want, sweetheart." Emotion clogged her throat as she nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. And as the laughter rose again and glasses clinked once more, Arla-Rosa leaned back in her chair, utterly convinced that she had finally found her home. Blissfully unaware of the traps being set with every smile and every toast.

The next morning, Arla-Rosa stirred her cup of ginseng tea, absentmindedly. The scent reminded her of Master Ye’s apothecary, earthy, quiet, and still. Her phone buzzed on the counter. Seth: Don’t forget the Walker files. The board meets at 3. Love you. She smiled, tapping a quick reply. On it. Love you more.

Her planner lay open beside her tea: color-coded tabs for her final project, work notes for Seth’s company, and little scribbles in the margins, her own version of Master Ye’s cryptic herbal mnemonics. Arla took a sip, then stood, smoothing down her blouse. Three places to be today, and somehow, she’d make it all fit.

The university was a blur of final presentations and last-minute stress, but Arla thrived under pressure. Her professor stopped her outside the lecture hall. “Miss Santon. Brilliant work, as always. I’d like to recommend you for the international research grant, if you're open to it.”

Arla blinked, surprised. “That’s... thank you, Professor. I’ll think about it.” But as she walked away, her fingers hovered over her phone. She thought of Seth, of the Robinson family. Of the engagement party looming just weeks ahead. She didn't send the message.

The office buzzed with quiet efficiency as Arla settled into the conference room, flipping through the Walker portfolio. She made three key adjustments to the pitch,subtle, efficient changes Seth had overlooked. When he arrived minutes later, he skimmed the revised document, brow raised.

“You made edits?” he asked. She nodded. “Just tightened a few parts. I thought it might flow better.” Seth kissed her forehead. “Of course you did. You’re brilliant, Rosa. The best assistant a man could ask for.” Assistant, not partner. But she laughed it off, ignoring the strange flutter in her chest.

The apothecary smelled of dried jasmine and ironwort. Shelves towered with amber jars, handwritten labels curling at the edges. Master Ye stood by the counter, grinding something in his brass mortar. “You’re late,” he said without looking up. “I brought you red lotus petals,” Arla said, holding out the parcel. “Fresh. Picked this morning.”

He took them with a grunt of approval. They worked in comfortable silence until Master Ye finally spoke. “Three gardens, you tend, girl. Study, ambition, and love. But what feeds you?” Arla blinked. “I’m... happy. I like helping. I love Seth.” “Hmph.” He packed the dried herbs into a velvet pouch and handed it to her. “For clarity,” he said. “Burn it when you forget what your heart sounds like.” She tucked it into her bag, unsure whether to feel grateful or scolded.

That night, curled on Seth’s couch with a glass of wine and her thesis notes, Arla-Rosa felt the hum of her busy life all around her. She was doing it. She was managing everything. Becoming the woman she was meant to be. She didn’t notice the way Seth glanced at her planner while she was in the kitchen. Didn’t notice the brief frown at the international grant note scribbled in the margin. Nor did she see him quietly tear the page out and toss it into the fireplace.